


Consolation

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-30
Updated: 2007-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Food, thought John, getting up off his bed.  Food – he could do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation

Food, thought John, getting up off his bed. Food – he could do that. He could push aside thoughts about Wraith and feeding and simply concentrate on food, on the way Rodney was going to pack it away, he could focus on that and stop thinking about Rodney shriveling up, crying out, wasting away before his eyes, four-course meal to some half-evolved . . .

"Say, you and I," Rodney said, interrupting. "We're about even when it comes to looks, right?"

John blinked, forced his mind back on track. "Who's been lying to you?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Rodney rolled his eyes and glared – a fully patented, 100% McKay special, scorn to the tenth degree, a withering expression of impatience – and somehow that was it, after everything else, an eye roll, a huff of breath; _that_ was the last thing he could handle, guts cramping, throat closing up, and he rubbed the back of his neck to avoid Rodney's gaze.

"Hey," Rodney said, and John knew that tone of voice as well, that sudden concern. " _Hey_ , what're you – "

"C'mon, you wanted food," John said gruffly, quickening his step a fraction.

"Oh, no, ohhhh, no," Rodney said, grabbing for his arm, and John's instinct was to throw a punch with his free hand, yank himself free, tussle right there in a goddamn hallway, but Rodney was pulling hard, twisting his own body, staring John in the face, vibrating with stubborn pride. "No. No more of . . ." He waved his hand. "This. No. What's going on?"

John shook his head, forced his jaw to unclench. "Nothing."

"You're shaking."

"Yeah? Well I'm pretty _pissed_ right now."

"Pissed?" Rodney looked at him, baffled. "What?"

"You know my nightmare," John said, voice low. "You know my nightmare and you come and ask me to let you _die_?"

Rodney's mouth fell open in a silent, shocked 'oh.' "John . . . "

It felt good to be on the offensive. "You weren't even _thinking_ about . . ."

"I was thinking about my sister!"

"And you –"

"Look." Rodney squared his shoulders, lifted his chin – he was gearing up for a full-blown rant and John braced himself. "Look I'm – I'm not good at . . . _we're_ not good at . . ."

"What?"

Rodney ground his teeth. "Saying things. Saying . . . _stuff_ , but – can we waive that rule for the moment? Can we just – do you imagine . . . I never thought you'd . . ."

John narrowed his eyes. "Have a problem with you _dying_?"

"Under these circumstances, I thought perhaps you'd . . . be glad."

" _What_?"

"At least it would show you I could be brave."

John stared.

"Since I'm – " Rodney waved a hand. "Not. Very often, and that must – "

"You think that'd be some sort of consolation?"

"Well. Yes, actually," Rodney said, frowning. "I mean – if I have to, you know . . . die, it would seem like having some sort of purpose to that death would be something that could offer a shred of comfort to – "

John slammed him back against the wall. "Let's clear some things up," he said, voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to die."

"Well that's just – " Rodney said weakly.

"You don't get to die, you hear me? You don't – " He pressed his lips together and swallowed past the crack splintering in his throat. "You don't . . . "

"John – "

John shook his head.

"I won't," Rodney whispered fervently, "I won't, I promise, I just – I couldn't lose her, and I'm – I'm selfish really, I wouldn't have had to watch _you_ die ever, and – " Rodney tentatively lifted a hand, cupped one side of John's face. "I mean - you don't get to die either, you know?"

And on his next inhale John did know, got how screwed up it could get, trapped inside your own head, imagining the people you left behind would be okay. He'd _been_ there, he'd _done_ that, he'd said his cocksure goodbyes and god, goddamit – "I'm sorry," he whispered unhappily and leaned in, pressed his lips gracelessly to Rodney's, pulled back a second later, awkward and uncertain, no idea what had come over him. Rodney blinked at him, mouth working soundlessly, two spots of color bleeding slowly over his cheeks and John bit back a wince, anticipating where this was going to go the moment Rodney regained the power of speech.

Only Rodney was always surprising him, caught him off guard, mumbling "God, yes," yanking him back, kissing him messily, all fervor and no skill, fingers twining up into John's hair, holding him steady, holding on. "Yes, yes, god, we should – " And he kept on kissing him, edging them away from the mess, back in the direction they'd come, mouth chapped and eager, desperate, running on adrenaline and regret, and so very much alive.


End file.
